


Dirty Ideas

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Series: Something other than Mollcroft [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Molly, F/M, Handcuffs, Molstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has had a long week and just wants to watch a football match. Molly has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Ideas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Hello! I do not own these characters this work is purely for entertainment.
> 
> \--
> 
> You will usually find me in the Mollcroft submarine but I have taken my inflatable dinghy over to the Molsterade ship for a quick visit this afternoon. It was completely unexpected but once it got in my head it had to be written down so I could get back to my regularly scheduled programming. Enjoy!

It had been a long week and Greg was tired. With Molly out for the evening at her friend’s Hen Party he had opted not to take up his usual spot at the local Pub but instead settled down on his sofa to watch the Champions League Match.

Sixty-two minutes into the match he heard a key in the lock.

“Molls? Is that you? I didn’t expect you home for hours.” Greg took another drink from the beer bottle, his eyes fixed on the telly.

The giggles and staggering footsteps told Greg that despite the early hour (at least in Hen night terms) Molly was well and truly drunk. Rolling his head to the right he found Molly leaning up against the doorway. Around her neck a long boa was moulting neon pink feathers all over his flat, and off her finger was dangling a pair of handcuffs that matched the boa.

“Good evening detective inspector,” giggled Molly, waggling the handcuffs making more pink feathers float to the floor.

“Looks like you packed in quite a lot in the four hours you were out.” Once again the game drew Greg’s attention, the smirk still on his face.

“I did,” slurred Molly. “Lots to drink and LOTS of dirty ideas.” Weaving across the room Molly crawled onto Greg’s lap, straddling him. He had to crane his neck around Molly to watch as the ball was moved down the pitch.

“Oh yea? Like what?” he asked distantly as he managed with some difficulty to take another sip from his bottle.

“You in my handcuffs,” said Molly in a stage whisper before she started licking Greg’s neck.

He winced and pulled a sour face, “What the hell did you drink tonight? Sewage?”

“Tequila,” grinned Molly. “Two worms.”

“Ugh. Yep that would be it.” Turning his head and trying to get some fresh air Greg took another drink from the bottle.

Her eyes were already half-closing as Molly grasped Greg’s left wrist. It took her three tries to get the flimsy plastic cuff around his wrist. Greg simply rolled his eyes, neither helping nor stopping. “One condition. No photos. If Sherlock sees me in pink handcuffs I will never live it down.”

Molly was laughing so hard she snorted and almost slipped off Greg’s lap. Just in time he manged to put the beer bottle on the side table and catch Molly before she hit the ground. Pulling her back up onto his lap and holding her to him tightly he whispered seductively, “First rule of handcuffs, captive is not caught until the second cuff in on.”

With an evil gleam in her eye Molly positioned Greg’s hands behind his head and put the second cuff on. Greg let out a moan. Molly took this as excitement on Greg’s part when in fact it was frustration that he had missed a goal kick because Molly’s chest had been in his face obstructing the view of the match.

Sliding off Greg’s lap and now unsteadily standing in front of him Molly surveyed the situation. Greg was on the couch in his plaid flannel sleep trousers and soft grey t-shirt. His robe was on and open and his hands were handcuffed behind his head while a selection of neon feathers were covering the couch and in Greg’s hair.

“Now what should I do-“ mused Molly thoughtfully.  “How about play with myself until you beg me to free you.” Already gigging to herself Molly slipped her jeans off, leaving her knickers on. Then she sat down, legs apart, on the chair next to the sofa.

The match was now tied two all, he was in pair of pink feather covered plastic handcuffs and his girlfriend was about to get herself off in front of him.  Greg shook his head, his night certainly had not panned out like he thought it would.

Luckily Molly had positioned herself so he had a good view of both the match and her. Sadly Molly thought the urging, “Come on! Come on! Ugh! You’re killing me!” through gritted teeth was for her when in fact it was for the Chelsea striker.

As the match ended 3-2 to PSV Eindhoven Greg glanced over to Molly, her hand was resting on her stomach not having got any further before sleep had overtaken her.

With a chuckle Greg pulled his arms apart and snapped the handcuffs, then giving each a quick squeeze easily cracked the cheap plastic. Tossing the remains on the coffee table and turning off the telly he walked over to the chair and picked his mostly-sleeping girlfriend up and carried her to bed making a mental note that tomorrow he should bring his set of real handcuffs in from the car.

 


End file.
